


Birthright

by letmefightforfreedom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy's birthright, Even Less of an idea, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, What is this?, Who Knows?, where is it going?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27540259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmefightforfreedom/pseuds/letmefightforfreedom
Summary: What is this you ask? Oh just me doing my mom's fanfiction assignment for grad school because she didn't want to 'mess with the authors characters' Good thing I don't care cus JK is a TERF.Anyway. Its V E R Y PG cus it was for the aforementioned grad school. But we all love a Drarry moment and we all hope this is going that way.Who knows! Not me!
Kudos: 1





	Birthright

Draco leaned over the cauldron in the corner of his room stirring pensively. It was a new potion he was trying, something he had read about in next years textbook and he was hoping that if he tried enough of the new potions by himself before then perhaps he could finally show up that Granger in lessons. He didn’t think this one was going well though, instead of the light blue it was supposed to have turned, it was a disappointing mauve.  
He turned quickly as there was a knock at his door, quietly muttering a spell to banish the fire and disappointing cauldron to the shed outside. His mother would kill him if she found him lighting fires in his room again, even contained ones.  
“Draco,” Narcissa called from behind the closed door, “please come down for dinner; we have guests.” Draco quickly pushed away the bile that rose to his throat at his mother’s words. Guests meant only one thing: The Dark Lord had come to dinner and the Dark Lord only deigned to dine with his disciples when he wanted something.  
The Malfoys had fallen from their position of favor after the disastrous night at the department of mysteries and Lucius’ return to Azkaban had been greeted with a certain level of disappointment by The Dark Lord, but as of yet there had not been repercussions. A part of Draco feared that ended tonight.  
“I will be right down, mother.” Draco called back but stayed crouched on the floor for several more moments while he gathered his resolve. Draco was not unafraid of The Dark Lord, only a fool would be, but he felt a sense of correctness in this night. His father had fallen, it was time for him to take his father’s place. Never mind that he was not seventeen yet, the Potter boy had been treated like an adult his entire life by people like Dumbledore, it was finally time for Draco to step into his rightful place and be granted the position he deserved. Perhaps it was this feeling of his destiny that made Draco choose his best suit, perhaps it was his feeling of finally being seen for who he was and what he could do that made him put his father’s ring on his finger. It had been a gift some months before, but Draco had never felt the desire to wear it. Perhaps it was all of this that led him to walk down the staircase and into the dining room with the air of the man of the house, a false sense of bravado that ended when he saw the scene before him.  
His mother sat at The Dark Lord’s left. To anyone who did not know her well she was the picture of the gracious hostess, smiling, offering the food the house elves had cooked and looking for all the world like this having the Dark Lord over for dinner was a normal occurrence. But Draco did know her well. He saw the firm set of her shoulders, how she flinched away from the Dark Lord’s touch, how her eyes widened ever so slightly when the Dark Lord motioned Draco to the empty seat at his right hand.  
“Draco,” the Dark Lord said. His voice was barely more than a whisper but to Draco it felt like a shout. Part of him was surprised that the Dark Lord would acknowledge his presence, part of him was pleased, finally all the death eaters would see that he was important, that he was Draco, not Lucius’ son. But there was a part, buried deep; so deep that Draco barely noticed it, that was afraid. He walked to the seat at the Dark Lord’s right hand and sat, looking at the group that sat around the table. He was surprised at the amount of death eaters at the table. This was not a spontaneous dropping by of guests for dinner. This was planned. This was important. His aunt leered at him from across the table with her equally charming husband at her side. Nott was here, Yaksley, Crabbe, Goyle, even Greyback lounged in a chair, and, as always Severus sat at the fringe, silent and dark seeming uninterested in the proceedings.  
Draco had always dreamed of being included, of being given a seat at the table, of being told what was going on. He used to hide behind bookcases and put his ear to keyholes when he had been younger desperate to be a part of this important group his parents were a part of. Then he had grown up, learned more about the war he had been thrust into the midst of and had wanted to make his father proud. He used to dream of the day when his father would look on him with something other than thinly veiled disappointment and say that he was proud of who Draco was. He wanted to prove that he could be the heir his father craved. That he believed and did all the right things so that he could finally be a part. So, hoping that this was more than just the Dark Lord trying to keep his mother in line, Draco waited.  
Few of those gathered touched their dinner, his mother looked much too tight, others who were not in the Dark Lord’s favor looked to frightened. Only his aunt seemed to eat with relish, attempting every couple bites to speak across her sister to the Dark Lord. For his part, he ignored her many questions and flatteries until he raised a hand and the room went silent.  
“Unfortunately, we lost some members due to their own failings at the ministry recently.” The Dark Lord spoke in measured tones the room silent and tense. “These losses leave our numbers with certain…holes.” At this last work the Dark Lord turned to give Narcissa a measured look and she turned her gaze down to the table.  
“It is a shame about Lucius, but honestly, he’s not even the best of us, my Lord,” said Bellatrix, her voice sudden and much too loud in the tense room. “Surely any of us, surely I could do whatever you needed.”  
The Dark Lord’s eyes did not move from his mother and Draco felt nervous once more. While he found his aunt’s pandering insufferable, he had learned that the Dark Lord’s moods were sudden and hard to predict. He many not enjoy his aunt’s company, but he had seen the Dark Lord torture people for less. But when the Dark Lord spoke it carried a level of warning, but nothing more. “It is not loyalty I am looking for, Bella, but numbers.” His eyes suddenly turned to Draco and Draco felt cold run through his body. “I think it is time,” The Dark Lord continued, “That Draco claim his birthright.”


End file.
